


crayola skies for a thousand miles

by MiniInfinity



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slice of Life, because there's no official childhood friends to lovers tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 12:36:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19812442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniInfinity/pseuds/MiniInfinity
Summary: Soonyoung and Seokmin start and end with a box of crayons.





	crayola skies for a thousand miles

**Author's Note:**

> hA another seoksoon thing i planned at 1am :')) it vegetated in my drafts for months, so here it is now  
> and since i wrote this a lil late at night, i guess my only **warning** is, again, my gross writing sdlkfjkl

Seokmin may have blown five candles on his birthday three months ago, but he wants to take back his wish of making sure that no ladybug will ever go near the entire country of South Korea on his bad days. On his good days, he thinks he can tolerate a ladybug landing near Yongin, and there's a chance he'll be the one to step in front of his sister and swat the darn bug away when it even flies in the general direction of her shoulder. On his better days, he might as well let a friend bring one up to his face, not for himself to let it crawl over his finger, but perhaps just to watch its red shell split in half, unwrinkle the wings hiding beneath before flying away.

He wants to take back his wish because the ladybugs can get him all they want, but the boy at the table with a packet of _sixty-four_ crayons and a _sharpener_ in the back makes his pack of twenty-four with only the cardboard and nothing else look a little tiny. Just too tiny for his hands.

He steps closer to the table, to the boy scribbling into tigers and trees, and he wishes he can step closer and ask to look at the crayons, count all sixty-four crayons in the box and make sure there are really sixty-four crayons, turn the box and find the sharpener there for the sixty-four crayons. Maybe he can ask to sharpen the boy's crayons for him. Or Seokmin can sharpen his own crayons. But when he opens his pack to see which crayons need new points in their lives, he frowns when he remembers his sister sharpening his twenty-four while he brushed his teeth last night.

Words run dry and he doesn't pick up a sound from his lips, but the boy at the table glances over his shoulder, coincidences straight at his eyes, and Seokmin wants to run away more than anything. The boy lifts his hand up and a second thought ceases to pass about taking the seat besides the boy, right after his hand patted the empty chair.

Seokmin thinks this is better than taking back his birthday wish. Not only will the ladybugs stop bothering him and his family, but he can also _look_ at the sixty-four crayons and the crayon sharpener, and he didn't even have to ask. He pulls a sheet from the tray in the middle of the table, borrows a page of police cars and firetrucks, and he asks if he can borrow just one of the boy's crayons. The entire box is pushed closer to his side of the table, to between him and the boy, and he can't believe this person allows him to pick any color to use. He can see all sixty-three crayons before his eyes, plus the one in the boy's hand, and the sharpener in the back.

"Can I borrow one of yours?"

He glances from his lonesome pack of twenty-four, to the sixty-four waiting to color the world, and back to the boy. "Why?" _This makes no sense_. "You have so many."

The boy pouts, reaches over for the twenty-four, but Seokmin beats him to it and sets his pack between them, right behind the sharpener. "I want to use one from yours because you're using one from mine."

Seokmin shakes off his mother's hand when the elevator doors open up to their floor. His feet kick on instinct to run down the vacant hall, sing the first song that pops in his mind and listen to his mother finish the words for him. But there's a kick at his heart, too, when he comes inside with a hope that he will see this Soonyoung a next time and another in daycare.

\----

The edge of autumn air tickles his face on his first week back to school. He learns that Soonyoung moved into the apartment building down the street from his in the summer, and it's his first day in this school. He also learns that he's the first friend he made in this city, and Soonyoung's mother holds his hand just like his mother does.

He hops a bit on his steps at the sidewalk before the school gates and he's close on grabbing Soonyoung's hand and taking him to his classroom until Soonyoung's mother kneels down and says they have to part at the hallway. Seokmin may not mirror the frown on Soonyoung's face when the words drop on them, but he still wishes he can bring Soonyoung to his classroom.

Soonyoung is almost a whole year older than him, and it means they might never ever have a class together. Maybe it will change today, that Soonyoung was assigned to the wrong teacher and the wrong classroom. Seokmin likes his teacher and perhaps, Soonyoung will, too.

At the bell's ring for recess, Seokmin stretches an extra minute sliding his books back into his desk. It's the first time the teacher tapped on a desk besides the window and told him it's his seat for the school year. He always hears stories of other students discovering something from the windows. The window seat offers him a new reason to look outside everyday and today, that reason is Soonyoung waving from across the building grounds. Seokmin's eyes sting out an apology for almost pushing Mingyu aside, to rush up to the glass and wave back at the older boy.

He wishes for Soonyoung to sit next to him. Maybe he brought his pack of sixty-four today to school.

Under the shelter of the three connecting slides, Soonyoung pulls out a folded sheet of printer paper and a blue crayon from his pocket. Seokmin meets a new friend today, a quiet one named Wonwoo. He's known Soonyoung all his life because they moved to the city together, he offers that piece up, and he says he would like to know Seokmin just as long, too.

Seokmin smiles, eyes falling back on the paper splayed out at the center of their crossed legs. It might mean having to tap on Mingyu's knee to scoot to the side closer, but the taller boy doesn't seem to mind doing so.

The paper houses a jagged outline of the school grounds, an arrow pointing at one side of the building and marked with a _Seokmin's class_. His eyes follow the other side of the arrow pointing at the opposite end of the building, marked with a _Soonyoung's class_.

"So," Soonyoung's eyebrows dig deep in focus as he turns to Wonwoo and back to Seokmin, Mingyu and back to Seokmin, "how do we get Seokmin in our class?"

\----

His eyes almost reach the top of Soonyoung's head by the time they fix their neckties for middle school. On their walk to the morning bus, Soonyoung chokes on the tie, despite having an entire year's experience where his mornings involve adjusting the tie before heading to school. Seokmin wonders how Soonyoung lived to be a year older than him.

In Soonyoung's room, he catches the box of crayons breathing in dust all around at the top shelf and a metal tin of expensive colored pencils at his desk. With the wear and tear of growing up and past crayons, he pouts at the gray around the box. Soonyoung mentions having to use crayons for a project and with the switch of art mediums a year ago, he's not really in the mood to.

"I think I'll melt the crayons," Soonyoung grumbles, head falling lower and lower until his chin props up on the surface of the table.

"That's too cruel for the crayons, Soonyoung" tatters into the shuffling silence, and Seokmin wishes the crayons were never given such a fate when they've used them for so long.

He hears a chuckle, touches bitter and exhausted at his ears. He's not sure if Soonyoung will listen to him when he goes back to his drawing of an apple, not with the black scrapes of charcoal all over his palms.

\----

He spots Soonyoung from across the high school campus, lugging a sketchbook that drags from his knees to his torso. He'd call him over, ask about his art class for the day, but auditioning for the school's choir freezes up his voice more than the inability to sing.

But it's the path from his last class to the auditorium, where auditions are being held, where he stumbles upon Soonyoung like the first of many times today. He must be heading to an art club meeting, and his judgement stands correct when Soonyoung points at the opposite direction, towards the general area of the art room. His heart sighs content for a split second, catching the smile, but he drops it when a sheet of paper slides over the workbooks at his hands.

It's a quiet "You're gonna be amazing, Seokmin" that dissolves into the halls but not out of his heart. He traces the soft curves of his eyes, exhales the extra beats of his heart when his eyes skip down to the smile that blooms, when he lifts a hand up and dusts off a smear of charcoal off Soonyoung's cheek.

He prays that somehow, Soonyoung will be one of those sitting at the audience with him. Somehow, Soonyoung will tell him the same words inside the auditorium.

He shifts in the plush seat before the stage, and he believes his heart suits as a better metronome, jumping into the confines of his chest and wanting to escape the vice grips of his nerves. His knee bounces all it wants and nearly sends the paper drifting away and under another seat.

With the hopes of settling his inhales to a mere hum, he unfolds the paper Soonyoung passed over his books. He unfolds the paper to a cartoon version of himself, singing on stage, etched in crayon and nothing else. He smiles, stares at the curves of his eyes making room for his smile, the mole at his cheek, even the half-moon of his white smile. He closes the paper up when someone shoots a muffled "Excuse me" under the nervous chatter all around. He closes the drawing up, though, and opens up to a note in the back.

_I'm sorry I can't be there for your audition, but I know you'll do great! Tell me all about it after!_

_Soonyoung_

Seokmin sighs the weight of butterflies at the pit of his stomach, easing its way out of his lungs and up his throat. He shoves his backpack, his workbooks under the seat, but he makes sure the drawing stays tucked into his pocket. A pat or two for his pocket before he goes up might help him even reach the stage.

The girl beside him starts to look around, and he follows suit, tries to flatten out the smile when anxiety takes over and his heart races against the second hand, perspiration at his palms rush down like a river, and the gasp through his lips silences it all. Because when he peers around to whisper a good luck to everyone trailing not that far from his own anxieties, the second muffled "Excuse me" in the air fends off with a "Thank you" under the wobble of a sketchbook, a huff from Soonyoung waddling to a vacant seat in the back of the auditorium.

Once Soonyoung settles down, Seokmin can't help but turn in his seat, pull out the piece of paper from his pocket, and smile into the wave of Soonyoung's drawing in the air.

\----

After imprisoning himself in his professor's office hours, he passes by the line of study rooms in the library, searching for the one Soonyoung booked with a few other classmates in his class. He tries to guess the room number without checking his phone, but he doesn't need to double-check when he catches Soonyoung pricking at his eyes.

If it was any other time, Seokmin would walk in, offer a hand to hold or an ear to listen. Any other time, Soonyoung wouldn't offer the sight of tears dripping onto the textbook and the lonesome in the study room.

He turns from the door before Soonyoung picks up on his presence at the other side and ignores the opening of the elevator. He resorts to skipping a step or two down the stairs, out and about the university's bookstore a couple buildings away. He dismisses the smallest of grins from the cashier as he pays for everything in his basket, adds a second box of crayons to the counter at the last second. He brushes aside the quietest chuckle from behind when he peers to the side, to the racks of cheat sheets and stress relief books, to the coloring books on the spinning rack that wind into his hands.

On his way back to the library, he hugs the plastic bag to his chest as rain threatens to soak through. He hopes none of the rain drowns the coloring books or each pull of the bag closer to his chest won't snap a crayon. And he apologizes to the librarian for running up the steps, squeaking the floor in rain water and bringing the weather inside, crinkling the reusable plastic into the studious parts of the building.

He knocks on the door and the tremble of Soonyoung's lips sends another step closer before their shoulders still with mere centimeters in between. He pulls the bag from across the table, besides Soonyoung's textbooks. He picks out a coloring book and a twenty-four pack of crayons for Soonyoung, another coloring book and another twenty-four for himself.

He may hate disrupting the peace in the library on his trip up, may hate the possible coughs and runny noses, chills under layers of blankets that will follow the next day. He may hate it all, but he thinks they're all worth it when Soonyoung offers a bare lift of his lips and the tears might not mean a bad thing this time.

Seokmin doesn't probe about it, the pink at his eyes and the tears streaking his cheeks. He only has silence to accompany them for the while, save for turning pages, Soonyoung's "I have a sharpener in my bag," and Seokmin's "We can talk about it later."

And the wordless still guards them when the side of Soonyoung's face finds purchase at his shoulder. He watches his eyes flutter shut, crayon still at his hand and his heart relaxing.

\----

Seokmin groans to his alarm, wants to slam it off the nightstand when it blares too close for comfort at his ear. He risks cracking an eye open and notices the cold, empty side of the bed. He peers around to find some semblance of any life outside of his own in his home, that he's not alone in the house when Soonyoung promised he wouldn't be, and it arrives in the form of Soonyoung holding onto a sheet of yellow construction paper at his hand. With morning at his eyes and sleep running in his veins, the sheet may have indecipherable lines all over it, saw-tooth streaks of something that isn't supposed to be a saw-tooth, and Seokmin smiles into the early hours against his pillow.

Soonyoung starts his way to the bed, carding his hand through awakening bed hair. Seokmin sighs at the sight of unpromised lonesome at the door. He treads a foot through the door frame, but the sound of light giggles beat him past the door, when the patter of soft steps rumble from the hall, when their son runs in with a box of crayons and dives right into the blankets gathered at his chest.

He opens his arms past the edge of the blankets, can't think of a more perfect morning than now. He lifts their son to plant him on his waist, and he wonders what he did in his past lives to deserve a morning just like this. Plucking the box off tiny hands and setting it at the nightstand, Seokmin holds his face in his hands, brings a good morning kiss to his forehead, and blossoms into a fit of giggles when Soonyoung joins in under the covers.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!  
> the title is from the song ["Charmed Life" by Leigh Nash](https://open.spotify.com/track/6mPgDIlvBSqnm7qjjTF5zn?si=tzmnOdW0T0O3EIAdBoNX9g). i listened to it a lot growing up, and i planned out this tiny thing in the middle of the night while listening to the song.  
> and if you like to scream at me, i'm still at [ tumblr](http://seokmins-thighs.tumblr.com/), [twitter,](https://twitter.com/_miniinfinity) and [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/miniinfinity)


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